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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821215">A Brush with the Devil Can Clear Your Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMermaidDJ/pseuds/TheLittleMermaidDJ'>TheLittleMermaidDJ</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Good Friend Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Protective Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Scott McCall &amp; Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:55:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMermaidDJ/pseuds/TheLittleMermaidDJ</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the hell do you want?" Stiles demanded, through his pain and fear, glaring up at the shapeshifter with as much hate as he could muster. "You," it answered, and Stiles felt his blood run cold. <br/>Trouble arrives in Beacon Hills again, and neither Scott nor Stiles are prepared to face the evil... or their demons. Post season 3!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scott McCall &amp; Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Broad-Shouldered Beasts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi!<br/>I am ridiculously late for the party, but this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone! I wrote it, decided to post... And I have no idea if this fandom is still alive, but if any are... Welcome to my first Teen Wolf venture! I hope you will enjoy!<br/>This fic is finished and will be updated regularly. It will focus mainly on the awesome friendship between Stiles and Scott (if you ship them, then feel free to read this story as something more), dosed with a massive amount of angst and hurt/comfort, because I am a huge h/c monster.<br/>Chapter titles are song titles from the lovely Mumford and Sons! I own nothing, neither characters, songs, storylines or plot points or anything else you might recognize.</p><p>I have nothing to else delve into for now, so enjoy! And leave a thought on your way out, yeah? </p><p>The LittleMermaidDJ!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His panting breaths were loud as they reverberated in his ears.</p>
<p>His heart pounded wildly, threatening to jump out of his chest as it slammed against his ribcage. Sweat was clinging onto his skin, gathering on his forehead and running down his back. His calves and thighs were sore and trembling with exertion and his lungs screamed for a respite to draw in proper air. His body wanted badly to stop but the rush of adrenaline and the pure, absolute terror coursing through his veins spurned him on.</p>
<p>Stiles was surprised that the number of times he had been forced to run for his life, sprinting away from whatever new monster decided to descend on Beacon Hills, hadn’t automatically placed him on the track team. But here he was, his breathing labored and his blood rushing in his ears as his muscles burned and shook. His palms were slick with sweat and his right hand tightened around the aluminum bat sliding in his grasp. </p>
<p>He threw a hurried glance over his shoulder. </p>
<p>The dark night enveloped everything except for the illuminated parking lot behind him, which was growing smaller by the second. There was no other cars or bikes except for his blue Jeep. He was completely and utterly alone. A deep growl penetrated the night, sending chills down his spine and quickening his already rapid pulse. </p>
<p>Well, not completely alone.</p>
<p>Stiles forced his legs to run faster. His eyes were glued to his destination ahead. </p>
<p>Beacon Hills High School. </p>
<p>He had practically just come from there, having spent the afternoon and evening in the library. He had told his dad it was to catch up on schoolwork. Being possessed by an evil fox spirit did nothing good for your grades, after all. In reality, he had spent the time copying and cataloguing the casefiles on the two recent killings he had borrowed from his dad’s office. </p>
<p>Two people, a jogger, and a hiker, had been found separate of each other within the last week, their bodies torn to shreds. Official ruling was an animal attack and there was a massive pressure on the Sheriff’s department to locate and incapacitate the rabid animal before it hurt or killed someone else. Unofficially, the consensus was on a shapeshifter. His dad had still told him to stay out of it. Stiles, as per usual, hadn’t paid much attention to that request. </p>
<p>They knew it was most likely a werewolf – Scott and Derek had picked up that much from the lingering scent in the woods. What it was doing here was the mystery. So, while the supernatural creatures were busy sniffing out clues – a joke that had not been appreciated at the time – Stiles had set out to learn more from the case reports.    </p>
<p>He finally decided to call it a night and with his brain overworked and oversaturated, Stiles had exited the school and headed to his car. He had been dismayed to find his Jeep unable to start. The sense that he wasn’t alone in the empty darkness prickled at his senses the moment he opened the hood of the Jeep. Uneasy and nervous, Stiles surveyed the quiet parking lot, peeling his eyes for any movement or distorted shadows. His heart began to beat faster and faster, fear tickling his nerves and he had reached into his car for his bat. The moment his fingers curled around the cold aluminum, something drew his attention to the trees that were drenched in shadow. </p>
<p>His breathing hitched as he saw the crimson pair of glowing eyes watching him in the darkness.</p>
<p>Everything was frozen for the fraction of a second. </p>
<p>Stiles didn’t move. </p>
<p>Neither did the eyes. </p>
<p>Then the creature threw itself forward, the shadows twisting and casting themselves towards him. Stiles swore as he turned on his heel and began his mad dash in the opposite direction. He cursed the open parking lot and how he had parked so far from the school. The big building bopped closer with every running step pounding into the asphalt. Stiles’ breathing hitched as he slammed into the double doors, throwing them open with so much force he almost landed flat on his face. </p>
<p>He stumbled haphazardly into the empty hallway, his sneakers screeching on the polished floor. With no one else around, the noise seemed unnaturally loud. He faltered then, unsure of which way to go. He eyed the stairwell to upper levels, but quickly decided against it. A werewolf could easily survive a jump from the second floor unscathed. </p>
<p>Stiles couldn’t. </p>
<p>Heavy, jogging footsteps echoed hauntingly behind him and Stiles dashed around the bend in the hall. He frantically yanked on every doorknob he came across, hoping one of them would be unlocked. When he pulled the handle to the chemistry lab, the door flew open. </p>
<p>‘That’s not irresponsible at all,’ Stiles thought as he rushed into the classroom. </p>
<p>He closed the door as quietly as he could. Without wrenching his gaze from the door, he slowly backed away, his steps soft and tentative. His right hand was still clutching his bat, while his left searched around in his pocket after his phone. His hand was shaking as he fished it out of his pants, and he willed the trembling to stop. </p>
<p>‘Get it together, Stiles.’</p>
<p>His body ignored his rational commands as his shuddering fingers haggardly worked to unlock the phone. He cursed his stupid, human responses when he almost dropped the device because of his quivering, fear and dread overflowing his senses. Stiles had just pressed ‘Contacts’ when the wooden door burst open, squealing pitifully as it was torn off its hinges. The loud noise startled his already on-edge nerves. The phone clattered onto the floor.</p>
<p>A tall, dark mass came hurtling through the entrance and it crouched down when it landed. The long claws on its hands left long scratches on the white flooring as it raised its head to look at its prey. Stiles felt rather than saw the piercing, glowing eyes boring into his as the werewolf watched him. He could swear he saw malicious satisfaction swirling in that stare. </p>
<p>It still bore the shape of a tall man, his limps and features wry and askew in its shifted state. He wore dark clothes, matching the shade of his brown hair. The werewolf’s lips pulled back into a sneer, revealing the long, gleaming canines covered in saliva. </p>
<p>“Scott McCall,” he rumbled, his voice muffled and distorted by the enlarged, sharp teeth.</p>
<p>Stiles swallowed down his tremoring fear and used the only real weapon he had: his sarcastic mouth. He was proud when the words didn’t quiver. “Then I’d hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have your wolves severely mixed up. I know it’s hard to tell underneath the constant, acrid stench of anxiety, but I am 100 percent, pure, puny human.”</p>
<p>“But you’re still pack,” the shapeshifter victoriously retaliated.</p>
<p>“More like honorary member,” Stiles quickly responded, his mouth feeling drier by the second. This werewolf clearly planned to use Stiles to get to Scott. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not in a million years. Not again. He used their conversation to stall for time as he etched further back into the classroom, closer to the teacher’s table that was littered with lab equipment. He just had to keep talking. “I only get the participation trophies, not the actual medals. Sorry you came all this way and bloodied your claws for nothing. It happens to the best of us.”</p>
<p>The Alpha growled threateningly as it followed his movements. Then it lurched forward, clearly done with talking. </p>
<p>Stiles reacted immediately.</p>
<p>He grabbed beakers, racks and tubes off the table and threw them at the monster blocking the exit. The werewolf shielded his face as the glass broke against his skin, <br/>deep growls rumbling in his throat as he was assaulted by various lab equipment. He still inched closer, growling and howling menacingly.</p>
<p>Stiles kept throwing whatever he could get his hands on while he backed towards the other side of the room. When they were at a skewed distance from each other and with two tables separating them, Stiles took a chance and bolted for the unobstructed doorway. The werewolf recovered quicker than he had hoped.</p>
<p>It flung itself across the room, claws outstretched, and collided with Stiles in the middle of the room. The heavy weight slammed into Stiles’ left side and he felt the air pushed out of his lungs. His head banged into the hard floor as they landed in a tangled heap. His vision blacked out for a short second. He heard the sneers whisper in his ear as the werewolf struggled to gain the upper hand and sink its claws and teeth into his flesh. </p>
<p>Stiles trashed and squirmed underneath the monster’s weight. He was still hanging on to his bat, but he couldn’t gain enough momentum to swing it. His flailing leg suddenly found an opening and he slammed his thigh into the man’s groin. Stiles was grateful werewolves still had human attributes and so was rewarded with a painful grunt as his leg connected. </p>
<p>'Take that, you oversized poodle!'</p>
<p>With the shapeshifter was momentarily dazed, Stiles realigned the bat in his hands and smashed the round end into the werewolf’s face. Cartilage and bone crunched at the impact and the werewolf yowled and leaned back to alleviate the sudden pain. </p>
<p>Stiles wiggled out from under the reeling werewolf and shuffled to his feet. Both hands wrapped around the handle, he swung the baseball bat at the head. He felt his arms vibrate as the aluminum connected with flesh. It almost made him lose his sweaty grip. </p>
<p>The werewolf tilted to the side. </p>
<p>Stiles ran for it.</p>
<p>His feet shuffled clumsily down the hallway, his knees feeling weak while his heart hammered as pure survival instinct drove him on. His thoughts were jumbled but alert, high on adrenaline and fear. He heard the commotion behind him as the werewolf regained its senses and tore off after him. Stiles didn’t look back. He focused on the salvation he knew was waiting around the corner. The school exit, the parking lot and his hopefully-still-operational Jeep. </p>
<p>He rounded the bend of lockers, a choked sigh of relief escaping his mouth. He was so close he could practically taste the cool, evening air. <br/>Alarm shouted in his mind as his senses tingled uncomfortably with a sudden thumbing presence beside him.</p>
<p>It was all the warning he got. </p>
<p>Sharp, all-encompassing pain tore through his side as he felt something pierce his skin. The force tore him off his feet and sent him flying to the side, the baseball bat spinning out of his grip. He was hurled through the air before ramming into the lockers by the wall. The lumped metal and locks rammed into his back briefly as he bounced off the rattling lockers and down onto the ground. </p>
<p>He landed with a breathless gasp.</p>
<p>His side burned, sending agonizing needles across his nerves. His vision flickered with dark spots, the ceiling above him drifting in and out of focus. His chest spasmed and he couldn’t draw in a proper breath, just gasping desperately for air. The pain skyrocketed briefly, tearing a tortured cry from his throat, before it faded to more bearable levels. It loosened its grip on his lungs and with a strangled cough, he gulped in the precious oxygen. </p>
<p>Vaguely, Stiles registered the wet feeling spreading rapidly across his stomach. He raised a shaking hand and wrapped it firmly around his stinging side. As his skin connected with the warm, sticky sensation, agony flared and whitened his vision with its intense, aching pulse. Lethargy pulled at his mind and somewhere inside of him, he knew that sudden tired feeling was not good. He pressed his hand firmer over the gaping wound in his side, letting the pain jostle him out of haze. Trembling, he raised his head from the floor, fearful of what he would find. </p>
<p>Red, dark blood had coated the entire left side of his green t-shirt. Gingerly, Stiles lifted his fingers from where they were clutching the bleeding side. The fabric was torn several places, the skin underneath ribbed and mattered in blood that was still seeping leisurely out of the gaping wound. There was too much red, it was impossible to see the actual injury.</p>
<p>“That’s a lot of blood.”</p>
<p>The rumbling voice jerked Stiles’ body uncomfortably, and he snapped his head around to face its owner. The werewolf was no longer rabid and growling, instead the human features shone through despite the shapeshifter still being turned, as he stood nonchalantly in the middle of the hall. His hungry eyes never left Stiles’ and it sent racking shivers down his spine. </p>
<p>He set his jaw and stubbornly mustered all the bravado he had as he spat, “I should have kicked you harder.” </p>
<p>The werewolf chuckled humorlessly as it stalked casually strolled closer. Stiles willed his body to move, to roll onto his side and get his legs under him, <em>anything<em>. His limbs were sluggish and uncoordinated as he attempted to move. The werewolf just grinned wider as he watched Stiles’ feeble attempts at rising. </em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“There’s nowhere to run, Stiles.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles felt his blood run cold at the mention of his name. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Just stop fighting. We wouldn’t want you to bleed out. Not yet anyway,” the werewolf said, his voice low and purring. He stopped just at Stiles’ head, staring down on him with a mixture of feral victory and menacing indifference.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“What the hell do you want?” Stiles said, glaring up at the hovering shapeshifter with as much hate as he could muster.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The werewolf smiled then, a thin, horrible smile that stretched his warped, wolfish features into something utterly unnatural. “You.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles blanched at the word. He didn’t have time to ponder the menacing statement as the werewolf quickly lost his smile and slammed his foot into Stiles’ face.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>As he saw the boot come rushing down, all he could think of before darkness came and swept him away, was,</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>‘That’s a strange way to kill somebody.’</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Darkness Visible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anyone reading out there?</p>
<p>Onto chapter 2!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before he was bitten, Scott could easily sleep through his phone making noises, no matter how many calls he missed. More often than not, it had just been Stiles on some sleep-deprived, nonsensical rant that was also repeated the day after, regardless of whether Scott had answered in the night or not.</p>
<p>Now, his hypersensitive hearing wouldn't allow even a text to slip by unnoticed. All the subsequent, horrible events and situations that followed with being a werewolf, and the number of people relying on him, especially after becoming an Alpha, all added to his anxiety of what could happen if he ignored his phone. His body wouldn't let him rest if it chimed or rang.</p>
<p>It did then. One text pinging in, followed immediately by another.</p>
<p>Scott rolled over in his bed with a tired sigh and looked at the bright screen with bleary, squinted eyes. His sleep-addled brain took a second to understand the words. When it did, all sense of drowsiness evaporated, and his mind instantly went into overdrive. The texts were from Stiles. There were no further explanations and when Scott tried calling him, the only answer he got was his voicemail. It was just two, simple words:</p>
<p>School.</p>
<p>Help.</p>
<p>He was out of the bed in an instant.</p>
<p>Scott fumbled with his clothes as he desperately struggled to get them on, his phone crammed in between his shoulder and his ear as he again and again dialed his best friend's number. The answer was always the same.</p>
<p>
  <em>'Hey. This is Stiles and you missed me. Leave a message!'<em></em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Uncomfortable and chilling images of a similar situation some months ago haunted his memories, as Scott grabbed his bicycle helmet and ran downstairs. He raced out of the door, not bothering with locking it behind him and started his bike.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>As he tore down the roads, ignoring every aspect of the speed limit, his heart galloped wildly in his chest. Vivid notions of Stiles dead, dying or being torn to pieces bounced frighteningly in his mind and he wondered if this was somehow connected to the recent murders. Had Stiles discovered something and before he could say anything, that something had found him? Or was this just another, random act of violence to deal with?</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott urged his bike to go faster, slamming the accelerator handle with unnecessary force. What felt like hours later, he pulled up into the high school. He caught sight of Stiles' blue Jeep further down the parking lot, the hood propped up and seemingly abandoned.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The young werewolf dispatched of his bike, practically throwing his helmet onto the asphalt next to it and slammed open the doors to the school. The hallway beyond was dark and quiet, his own breathing resonating loudly in his ears. Pungent smells of blood and fear clung to air, his sensitive nose easily picking up the strong scents that hovered above the normal stench of bleach, filthy shoes and sweat dominating within the high school.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Stiles?" Scott tentatively called out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His enhanced sight quickly found the smear of blood that was practically shining out to him on some of the lockers on the right. Below them, rested a larger pool. His instincts and senses were on high alert, processing and storing even the slightest sound, smell or feeling as he moved further inside. He stopped by the drying pool of dark red, eyes apprehensively searching the coagulating blood. The scent lingering there was all too familiar. As was the plaid shirt, stained red and curled into a ball that had been tossed to the ground next to the blood pool.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott also picked up the scent of another, foreign presence. But it was one he could recognize. It was the same one he had vaguely smelled out in the preserve, first where the hiker had been killed and then by the jogger's crime scene. It was stronger now.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>With his body tense and on high alert, Scott gingerly picked up Stiles' discarded shirt and followed the foreign scent, mixed in with the blood trail of his best friend. It led him to the library building. Trepidation clutched at his chest as he ran his card through the scanner. It beeped with confirmation. Scott pushed open the doors, uneasy at what he might find. The library was bathed in darkness, the stark light from the lamplights outside shining meagerly through the windows in the back.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott thought he spotted a prone figure at the foot of the small staircase behind the study tables but before he could glean anything further, all of the hanging lights abruptly turned on. The sudden change from black to bright assaulted his heightened eyesight and Scott couldn't help the yelp escaping his lips as his eyes stung. He cast his hands over his face to shield them from the luminous onslaught. He shakingly lowered his arm and blinked furiously while his vision adjusted. Bright, yellow circles danced before his eyes as the illuminated library slowly drifted back into focus.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The sight that met him almost made him wish he had remained blinded.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His best friend lay sprawled on his side, his arms tied tightly behind his back. With his plaided shirt torn off, he was only in his thin t-shirt. The entire lower section of green material had been soaked through with blood from a wound underneath the massive tear in the clothing. It was still bleeding profusely, dripping into the rapidly growing puddle underneath Stiles' body. His features were lax and pale, the open lips white and bloodless. The pale complexion highlighted the purpling bruise circling his right eye. His half-lidded eyes moved languidly in the sockets, and they didn't seem lucid enough to comprehend his surroundings.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Stiles!" Scott called, worry amplifying and cracking his voice.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He started forward, intent on reaching his bleeding, best friend. He didn't get far. It was like ramming into a wall. He felt the abrupt appearance of unrelenting resistance that threw him back several feet, the back of his head and his spine smashing into the linoleum floor. He gasped at the impact. Groaning, he rolled onto his feet.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott cautiously moved closer again. This time, he easily spotted the thick, powdered line of mountain ash, forming the impenetrable wall he had run headfirst into. It had been laid out in a large square formation and Stiles had been neatly placed in the middle of it, incapacitated and tied down.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His loud commotion had seemed to tear Stiles out of his clouded stupor. His brown eyes were fully open and quickly fixated on his best friend, mere feet away. As his lucidity grew so did the pain and disquiet present in his gaze. He blinked several times, as if to clear his head, and with great effort, raised his head a fraction off the floor. His eyes met Scott's and then something changed. Scott saw the pain ebb away and instead was replaced by a swirl of bitter disappoint and somber regret.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The intensity of the emotions startled him into a temporary frozen state of indecision. It was like Stiles was disconcerted and upset by his presence and not relieved at all. Confused and strangely hurt, Scott renewed his efforts.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He slammed his palms into the invisible wall, the shining, blue magic enveloping the outline of his fingers as he started to push. He grunted and grinded his teeth as the barrier refused to move. Behind the shimmering wall, Stiles tiredly let his head flop back down, too weak to hold it aloft any longer.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott pushed harder.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The mountain ash responded by sending him flying back again. As he scrambled to his feet, determined to try anew, Stiles' eyes drifted to somewhere behind him and widened.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Scott…" his voice was raspy and barely above a whisper, but his urgent tone relayed the message perfectly.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>A chilling chuckle echoed in the empty, quiet library. Scott's neck hair bristled as he became aware of the looming presence materializing at his back. Driven by pure instinct, his lightning reflexes reacted without meaning to. He spun on his heel faster than any ordinary human could blink and charged at the presence.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His clawed fingers wrapped themselves into a thick material as he jumped, forcing the both of them backwards. Scott slammed the being harshly into the wall, his eyes glowing fiercely red, and his elongated canines barred in an obvious threat. The red eyes of an Alpha stared back at him, gleaming with delight and malice. He was lithe for a grown man, but his character still emanated an intimidating, dangerous feel that wouldn't cause anyone to underestimate him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott growled viciously at the Alpha in his grasp. He had no doubt this was the one responsible for his best friend's attack, and the two murders too. The werewolf merely raised his hands in a placating gesture, his fangs and claws retracting as his features reverted back to human. A self-satisfied, confident grin stretched at his thin lips.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott didn't let his guard down. He snarled, "Who are you? What have you done to Stiles?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Alexander is my name," the smiling shapeshifter replied nonchalantly. "But my name's not important. I heard rumors of a true Alpha emerging in Beacon Hills and it was too good of an opportunity to pass up."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"What do you want?" Scott demanded, his claws cutting deeper into Alexander's clothes and pricking at the skin underneath.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"I want the true Alpha! I came to observe his immense power. Imagine my disappoint at seeing he's only a scared, little boy!" Alexander sneered. He jammed the flat of his hand into Scott's chest.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott stumbled back under the sheer force of the blow and had to let go of the other werewolf. Alexander staggered away as he was released, calmly readjusting the position of his tussled jacket. He leveled a wicked, superior glare at Scott.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"I was a True Alpha once as well, you see," he said, his tone meticulous and low. "That power was unfairly stripped from me and I had had to fight for my current Alpha status. But it is not enough. I have come to reclaim my power."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott felt the growl rumble deep in his chest. He didn't care about this lowlife threatening his position, but he had hurt his best friend with full intent. It fueled his anger immensely. He could feel the wolf inside of him seething with an animalistic desire to tear the enemy apart.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"What does that have to do with Stiles?" he asked through clenched teeth, reeling in his fury.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"You surround yourself with human weaklings and passive werewolves, it's pathetic. And worst of all, your Beta, your second-in-command and the one to cover your flank, is nothing more than a human. He's a simple, defenseless human, but he is still your Beta," Alexander scoffed. "An Alpha, a True Alpha, shouldn't rely on the strength of others. And that's the whole point."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The larger werewolf smiled then; a thin, vile smile that made the blood in Scott's veins turn to ice.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Be the True Alpha. You have to choose, Scott. Prove to me you truly are the strong, self-reliant Alpha you claim to be. Fight me… Or choose the path of the weak… and save your Beta."</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Someone Save My Life Tonight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For maximum feels, I recommend listening to the Teen Wolf soundtrack 'You're my brother' from episode 3x06 (or 3x11 - 'Final Sacrifice') - As I said: Maximum Feels!</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott's mind was reeling.</p>
<p>In front of him, Alexander was grinning with a smug and complacent smirk as he gave his vile options. He seemed to relish in the indecisive chaos he had created. The loathsome, self-satisfied smile remained plastered on his smile as he started to back away towards the exit.</p>
<p>The feral animal inside of Scott yearned to follow and attack the predator and rip him to shreds with claws and fangs. To eliminate the threat. But his human side desperately cried out, worry and despair thundering through his mind at the sight of his bleeding friend trapped behind a barrier he couldn't smash through.</p>
<p>'<em>Fight me… Or save your Beta<em>.'</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>In the end, the choice was made easily.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>With a low snarl of frustration, Scott turned from the open library doors and the retreating werewolf that was melting into the dark shadows of night.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His eyes immediately landed on Stiles' limp form. The blood pool seemed to have grown in the short period of time and it sent despairing tendrils stabbing at his heart. He ran his gaze along the entire drawn square of mountain ash, hopelessly searching for any indentation or weakness where he could break through or where he was closer to his goal.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He found nothing.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles had been placed right in the middle with no shortcuts or easy solutions, or anything he could grab hold of. Frustrated, Scott pounded against the invisible obstruction separating him from his best friend. Every second that passed bore down on him, reminding him of the precious time slipping between his fingers.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Again, and again, he slammed his fists into the solid wall, pouring every ounce of worry, anger and desperation into destroying it. He propelled himself into it, striving to push through with a stubborn determination and sheer willpower. He had done it with the Darach. Before that, he had almost done it with Deaton. He knew he could do it. This time, it wasn't just overpowering an evil or saving his mentor. This was his best friend.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His brother.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott met Stiles' gaze through the shimmering blue wall dividing them. In them, he saw an all-encompassing fear; the fear that he was going to die. The fear that Scott would die too, in his attempts at breaking the magical line. His fear that Scott was going to watch him bleed out when there was nothing he could do.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It only fueled Scott's resolve. He kept assaulting the immovable blockade, flailing against it with frustrated and futile movements, his shoes slipping precariously on the slick floor. He felt the moment when his eyes shifted from brown to red with the exertion and when the deep-rooted, mythical barrier slashed at his strength, pushing back ferociously and mercilessly.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Almost as if it screamed 'ENOUGH!', it shoved the teenage werewolf violently away. Scott flew backwards, his back skidding over the ground. Undeterred, he rushed towards the starting point again, determined to try again.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles' faint voice halted his movements. "Scott. Stop."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott ceased his efforts. Exhausted and breathing heavily, he slumped to his knees. His moist eyes found his friend's.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"You know that whole 'unstoppable force meets immovable object' paradox? I think you nailed it," Stiles said, a fragile smile tugging weakly at his lips.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott ignored the attempt at humor. "There gotta be a way to get through. How did he get you in there in the first place?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles shrugged, the barely noticeable movement hindered by his bound arms. His eyelids were drooping again, the blood loss rapidly draining whatever strength he still retained. "He kinda stepped on my face, so I wasn't exactly awake for that part."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott's chest tightened at the comment. It only added to his despairing panic. He hung his head in defeated resignation, all options slithering soundlessly away. At that moment, he wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't been bitten. First off because that meant they wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. But it also meant Scott would be entirely human and he could cross the barrier without issue. But it was designed to keep out supernatural creatures, and he infuriatingly went under that category.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>… But Stiles didn't.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The thought suddenly struck him, like lightening from a clear sky. Cliché, but a highly accurate description. His head snapped back up, his eyes alight with renewed hope. "Stiles! Stiles, you're human!"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The fact that he had to say Stiles' name twice to gain his attention only fueled his hopeful desire. Stiles' brow furrowed in lethargic confusion.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"I have noted that already, but thanks for the astute observation, buddy," he mumbled in response.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"No. No, don't you get it? You can cross the barrier!" Scott urgently explained. He placed a hand on invisible wall, the bluish hue encircling each of his fingers. "Stiles. You have to get up!"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles deepened his frown, understanding slowly dawning in his eyes. A new sense of hopelessness washed over his scent then and his face broke with despair. Dejectedly and with a cracked voice, he whispered, "I don't think I can…"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott's heart shattered at the fractured statement and he felt emotion well up in his throat.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He locked eyes with Stiles, spilling all of his love, determination and confidence into his steely gaze. He believed in Stiles. And he needed him to believe it too. "Yes, you can! He called you weak. But you and I both know that's a lie. You're strong, Stiles. Stronger than any one of us, supernatural or not. And I need you, man. I need you to prove what I already know. I need you to get up!"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles' eyes glistened with unshed tears at Scott's words, which steadily rose in volume the more he talked. He believed every word of what he said, meant every syllable. Stiles set his jaw, his gaze never leaving Scott's, as he gathered up his strength, grim determination overshadowing the despair.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He began to move.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He gritted his teeth when his left shoulder first lifted off the ground. Pain rippled over his face as the wound on his side pulled and tore anew. Scott was helpless to watch as his friend began dragging his drained body across the floor. The restrained hands made the progress painstakingly slow. Stiles was forced to lumber forward on one shoulder, using his fumbling feet as leverage to push ahead. He alternated between heaving his shoulder up and forward and dragging the rest of his body after. His eyes fixated determinedly onto Scott, never faltering or blinking away, as if he looked anywhere else, his fragile resolve would shatter. Deep, pained lines crisscrossed his face as his features scrunched up in unmistakable agony.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His hollow grunts and wretched whimpers resonated hauntingly in the library and the agonizing sounds echoed in Scott's ears, ripping deeply into his soul. If he never had to hear his friend utter those tormented, strangled noises, it would be too soon. He attempted to drown it out with his own voice, uttering loud, encouraging words instead.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Little by little, Stiles crawled closer to the edge of the mythical, imperceptible prison, growing paler by every inch he covered. Scott pointedly tried to ignore the disturbing trail of blood left in Stiles' wake, as his friend stubbornly pushed himself forward, one heave of his shoulder at a time.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott paced restlessly outside of the barrier, his hands twitching in helpless anxiety and his body itching to do anything other than just watching as his friend struggled. It got worse the further Stiles came. Every time Stiles lifted his shoulder up and forward and dragged the rest of his body after, every movement punctuated by a strangled groan and another thick, red smear of blood painted onto the floor.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott's crippling feeling heightened and culminated when Stiles was no more than a foot from the boundary. Scott dropped to his knees, arms hovering in front of him as they anxiously reached out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"You're almost there, Stiles," he encouraged. "Just a bit more!"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles grunted with the effort, his face contorting into a pained, exhausted grimace. With a strained exhale, he heaved his upper body over the dark line. As soon as Stiles' shoulders cleared the mountain ash, Scott let out a relieved and delighted shout, not even caring how borderline hysterical it sounded, and dragged his friend's weary body the rest of the way out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott easily cut through the rope that had been used to bind Stiles' hands together with his sharp claws and with as much care as he could, he slowly lowered Stiles onto the floor. The dark, crimson blood coated his entire front by now. It was a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. A deep, profound exhaustion shone in his eyes that blearily looked up at the werewolf hovering above him. A weak smile ghosted over his pale lips as his head lolled weakly from side to side.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott had never seen anything more assuring, yet absolutely terrifying. He clamped both of his hands over the gaping wound to stem the flood of blood, his grip slipping in the slick, thick liquid. The strong metallic odor stung in Scott's nostrils. Stiles whimpered faintly, his strength ebbing rapidly alongside his life's blood. His hooded eyes flickered sluggishly in his head as he desperately struggled to remain conscious.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Stiles? Hey! You gotta stay awake," Scott said, alarmed when he caught sight of the drooping eyelids. His hands grew warmer as he felt the hot blood seeping through his fingers.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"C'n't…" came the mumbled reply.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Come on, dude. You're not gonna give up on me, now, are you?" Scott tried, his panic and trepidation soaring inside of his tight chest. "You gotta stay awake. I need you, remember? We need you. Who's gonna teach Malia to be human? Or help translate Lydia's brainiac ramblings? Or solve the case? Who's gonna be there for me, when I come up short, huh?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles truly did his best to stay awake. He really sought to heed Scott's commands. Scott could tell, as Stiles' hand flailed feebly until it latched onto his shirt, the fingers haggardly intertwining themselves into the fabric. The ghost of the weak touch was enough. Scott knew he was trying, fiercely clinging onto his dwindling consciousness, as his friend demanded. His breathing was strained and slow and Scott could hear his heartbeat diminishing with every stroke.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The young Alpha knew he had to get him out of here. Fast. Like yesterday.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Frantically, he looked around, something irrational inside of him hoping that someone had magically appeared to help. The library remained empty and quiet, the only sounds his own rapid breaths in stark contrast with Stiles' lumbering ones. His vision grew blurry and distorted and belatedly he realized it was because of the unshed tears filling up his eyes. Scott furiously blinked them away as he lowered his gaze again.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He was on his own.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He took a deep, sniffling breath to steel himself. With a lingering feeling of regret, Scott moved one of his blood-soaked hands from Stiles' side and patted on the pockets of his trousers, success twinkling in his eyes when he felt the cluster of the bundle of keys. He fished them out, clumsily stuffing them into his own back pocket, before he turned his attention back to his friend.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles' eyes were no more than slits, the brown color of his irises vaguely peeking out as he lazily tracked Scott's hasty movements.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"I'm gonna get you out of here, Stiles," Scott assured, speaking as much to himself as to the unresponsive teen beside him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He knew that as soon as he removed his hands from the bleeding injury, he had to move quickly. Rapidly but gently, he wiggled one arm under Stiles' knees while the other snaked behind his shoulders where his hand clutched tightly at the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Scott held Stiles' thin, trembling frame close to his own body as he scooped him into his arms. With a heaving grunt, he rose to his feet.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles' head lolled against his shoulder as the arm that wasn't cradled into his chest hung limply, swaying lightly with every step. His body felt cold against Scott's chest.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott gathered all of his enhanced strength, apprehension and concern fueling his legs. He moved as quickly as he dared out of the library building and headed for the parking lot. His steely gaze quickly located the blue Jeep, sitting idle as if it were just waiting patiently for its owner to return. He silently cursed their luck that Stiles hadn't parked closer to the school. He was all caught up in his own determination at reaching their goal that he almost missed the low sound of Stiles mumbling something into his shoulder. It was only because of his enhanced hearing he picked it up in the first place.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"'m sorry…"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"What?" Scott frowned at the apology, casting a quick, worried glance down at his best friend. Stiles had opened his eyes a little further, although there was no sharp lucidity to be found in his gaze anymore.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"… ev'rythin'…," Stiles responded weakly, his words slurred and nearly incomprehensible.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Stiles, what are you talking about?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They were almost there.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Al'son… Aid'n… M' fault… th'y're dead…"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott did a doubletake, the broken statement almost freezing him in his tracks and dropping his precious load onto the pavement. It was only the wet blood still seeping into his own clothes that reminded him of the urgent need to keep moving.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"No. Don't say that. It wasn't your fault. And neither is this."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Disquiet and despair drew fractured, distressed lines on Stiles' face, his haunted eyes cast upwards without seeing anything other than the panicked nightmare the blood loss had trapped him in. "Killed t'em… 'm sorry… s' sorry…"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles continued to mutter his garbled apologies, lost in fevered and disconcerted memories. It shattered Scott's heart into a million pieces. He scrambled not to completely break down as he finally reached the car, thankful to find it unlocked. He fumbled with the handle to the passenger side door, his fingers numb and slick with blood.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He delicately deposited Stiles' mumbling, listless body onto the seat, ensuring he was securely fastened and comfortable before slamming the door shut. Scott raced to the driver's side, banging the propped-up hood down on his way there. The keys jangled in his grasp as his shaking hands fiddled with the ignition.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Come on, come on, come on, come on," Scott urged impatiently as the Jeep stalled several times before the engine spurted and roared to life.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The blue Jeep whined as it reversed out of the parking booth, then angrily bellowed when Scott slammed it into gear and took off onto the road. He kept throwing sideway glances at Stiles, his foot growing heavier on the gas pedal when he noticed Stiles' eyes had closed on their own volition and his body slumped lifelessly to the side.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Worry, fear, dejection and anxiety all coursed through his mind.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He pressed the gas harder.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Whispers in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Melissa had been crouched over a medical file at the nurse's station, filling in the paperwork, when the raucous sound of someone barging through the hospital doors and shuffling into the hallway resonated in the emergency receiving room.</p>
<p>Her head snapped up at the disturbance and was met with the distressing sight of her own son trudging in, carrying Stiles' limp and bloodied form in his arms.</p>
<p>"Help!"</p>
<p>His frantic shout seemed to pull the startled medical personnel into action. Someone wheeled a gurney towards the distraught teenager while several doctors and nurses leaped in to assist. Melissa calmly but quickly moved around the nurse's station, while she felt her nervousness rising. She watched as Scott placed Stiles onto the offered gurney with utmost care and gentleness, hesitant to let go even as the doctors swarmed his bloody friend.</p>
<p>Melissa's heart clenched at the tormented, broken look etched into her son's face. She immediately went to his side, a delicate hand wrapping itself around his bicep while the other went to his back, guiding him slowly back.</p>
<p>"Honey, it's okay. Let them do their job. It's okay."</p>
<p>Scott hardly seemed to acknowledge her presence, his eyes glued to his best friend being wheeled down the hall towards an emergency room. Melissa glimpsed Stiles' unresponsive form, his practically white complexion that only made the startling amount of blood covering his body and seeping into the white linen underneath him that much more frightening. She tore her gaze away from the disheartening sight, knowing there was no more she could do to help him, and instead turning her attention to the one she could.</p>
<p>She had rarely seen her son so beaten down and fragile. Scott's shirt and jeans were dotted and smeared with red blotches of blood, his hands dyed an eerie crimson. His eyes were drawn and empty, still fixed on spot where Stiles last had been before he vanished from sight. He looked utterly lost and every bit the young teenager he truly was.</p>
<p>Carefully, Melissa took Scott's hands in hers and guided him to the waiting area where she firmly placed in one of the chairs. He sank down without a word, staring off into the distance. The experienced nurse could easily interpret the signs of traumatic shock. She got one of the other staff to fetch her a blanket, which she drabbed tenderly over her son's shoulders. As she adjusted the soft blanket, she searched his face gingerly. She spotted the moment his stunned haze cracked, and his emotions came rushing back.</p>
<p>His eyes warily travelled to his blood-covered hands. Then he looked at his mother, crouched down in front of him.</p>
<p>"Mom."</p>
<p>Scott's face contorted with fear and sadness as he let out a choked sob. Melissa didn't hesitate to draw her boy into her embrace, tightening her arms around him and she felt his shaking fingers gripping onto her back.</p>
<p>She was content to remain there; hugging him tight and protecting him against the cruel world as he silently broke down.<br/>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>'Suction. Looks like we got another tear.'</p>
<p>'He's still losing a lot of blood. Call the blood bank again. Tell them we need more A positive for… Are you sure it's not a spelling mistake?'</p>
<p>'Melissa swears to it.'</p>
<p>Scott felt a small, genuine smile tug slightly at his lips.</p>
<p>He was sitting leaned over in the chair his mom had dumped him on, closed off to the bustling surroundings and devoting his entire attention to listening in on the surgical team a couple of hallways down. It took all of his concentration as he strained his enhanced hearing to the limit. It left little ability to focus on anything else. Not moving or talking or thinking. It suited him fine. The less he had to remember his best friend's blood coating everything and the listlessness of his torn body, the better.</p>
<p>So, he settled for eavesdropping on the doctors currently operating on Stiles and their progress. It was better than waiting anxiously for news.</p>
<p>'His O2 levels are still low. I think his lung got nicked.'</p>
<p>'I see it.'</p>
<p>'Fix it. His stats are dropping.'</p>
<p>'I'm trying. Suction.'</p>
<p>"Scott?"</p>
<p>'Did the blood bank answer?'</p>
<p>'They're sending it up as we speak.'</p>
<p>'Good. I don't know how much he already lost but it's too much. Whatever animal attacked this kid, must have been raving mad.'</p>
<p>"Scott."</p>
<p>'Suction. Where is all this blood coming from?'</p>
<p>'Dammit. I can't see anything.'</p>
<p>"SCOTT!"</p>
<p>The shout tore Scott out of his focus. He was instantly snapped back to reality, his sore muscles protesting from being crammed into a hard-backed chair for so long. His vision focused on the red-headed teenage girl, standing in front of him and staring at him with a questioning glare.</p>
<p>"Lydia?" Scott said. He took in her tussled, messy hair and carelessly matched outfit. "What are you doing here?"</p>
<p>Lydia's face scrunched in exasperated uneasiness while she crossed her arms uncomfortably. She managed to look exhausted, annoyed, and disturbed all at the same time. "What do you think? I <em>heard<em> it."</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott took a moment to realize exactly what she meant. Then it struck him, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. Lydia would only get omissions about death. And down the hall, at this very second, doctors were fervently preventing Stiles from dying.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Lydia seemed to share his horrifying train of thought. The worry and anxiety were practically painted onto her face, even though she tried to suppress it. Her delicate scent reeked of it too. Scott didn't understand the exact nature of Stiles and Lydia's relationship, and he wasn't sure they did either, but the two doubtlessly cared deeply for each other, just as Scott did for them both. And Lydia feeling the presence of a lingering death, did nothing to dissipate either one of their worry.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It only amplified it.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Lydia," Scott started with a sense of trepidation, but he didn't get any further.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The emergency room waiting area echoed with hurried footsteps pounding onto the floor as Sheriff Stilinski frantically entered. His clothes were ruffled and askew, looking like he had just rolled out of bed and into his car. His distraught eyes immediately found those of his son's best friend, his lumbering strides carrying him into the waiting area in record time.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott involuntarily took a step back at the advancing Sheriff. The man could be surprisingly intimidating, especially when he was caught at the mercy of his emotions, and especially when it was directed at Scott himself.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"What the hell happened? Where is my son?" the Sheriff demanded. His voice faltered when his gaze drifted to the small spots of blood on Scott's hands and clothes. The ones he just hadn't been able to wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"You know the two killings in the past week? It's not an animal. It's a werewolf. And he wants me. Stiles got caught in the middle of it," Scott fidgeted nervously as he explained. Telling a father his son got hurt solely for the purpose of sending a message to another was not a pleasant conversation.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"So, you dragged him into some sort of supernatural, gladiator fight, without any form of protection?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The accusation stung. No matter how unjust and unfair, because Scott would never willingly let Stiles accompany him into what he knew would be a fight, it still resonated painfully. It was one of his worst fears; his pack getting hurt because of him. And now, Stiles had. He had been used as collateral, simply by being his best friend. After Gerard had crossed that boundary, no matter how fervently Stiles had tried to hide it, Scott had sworn he would do everything in his power never to let that happen ever again. Obviously, he had failed in that regard. Miserably.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"I wasn't even there…" he said, his eyes downcast in shame.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stilinski blinked, the startled surprise clear on his face. "What?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"He ambushed Stiles at the school. He texted me for help, but I think it was just to lure me there. And it worked."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"And where is this werewolf now?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott shuffled his feet before he answered curtly. "He ran."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Perfect… So that maniac's still out there somewhere," Stilinski sighed, up-giving.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"We're gonna find him," Scott determinedly answered. "I know it. I've already called Derek, who's trying to track him down right now."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The Sheriff's voice was tired and dejected, as he muttered, "And what about Stiles?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott felt pinned in an uncomfortable situation. He didn't know whether to relay the conversation he had picked up from the operating room or not. If that would even help. It definitely didn't lower his own anxious concern. Lydia kept quiet about her premonitions too. Before he could answer, his mother's voice beat him to it.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"I can help with that."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Melissa maintained eye contact with the Sheriff as she calmly started to explain, making sure the distressed father heard and understood every word. "I already asked. He's still in surgery. Currently, he's stable and they're working on fixing whatever damage that werewolf did. They're gonna page me the second he's out, okay?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott quickly decided to withhold the doctors' comments from anyone other than him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Stilinski nodded hesitantly at Melissa's words, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as he digested the information he had been given. Scott could smell the panic and fear steadily rising in the man while his thoughts raced.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Okay, okay…" he stammered, his words growing more agitated and turbulent as he spoke. "I'm gonna… His pillow… I didn't bring it. Once he's out, you know, he's not gonna get any sleep. I need to get it… He needs it, I…"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Sheriff," Melissa tried to interject in between his rambling. "Sheriff."</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>"Noah!" She grasped his arms and firmly held his tearful gaze. His babbling was effectively cut off. She held out her flat palm. "Give me your keys. My shift ended five minutes ago; I will get the pillow from his room. Alright?"</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>That ended every bit of conversation. With a grateful nod, Stilinski wordlessly handed her the key, a fleeting look of understanding passing between the two adults. Melissa squeezed Scott's shoulder briefly before she headed out to the parking lot.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Scott watched as the Sheriff ran an exhausted hand over his face and settled into a chair with a heavy sigh. Lydia sat down next to him, legs crossed and back erect, in a statuesque pose of proud indifference. Only her nervous fidgeting with her nails betrayed her true emotions. Scott himself retreated back to his own chair, folding his long limbs to be as small and insignificant as possible. He resumed his eavesdropping on the status of his best friend.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He wished he hadn't.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'He's tachycardic!'</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'We need more suction!'</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'I can't find the bleed.'</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'His vitals are dropping!'</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'Get the paddles ready!'</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'Stand by.'</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>'Clear!'</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. After the Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Onto the next chapter! Hope you're enjoying this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Scott was finally allowed in, he hesitated.</p>
<p>He hovered in the doorway to the darkened hospital room, the ceiling lights dimmed to keep the patient resting on the bed inside as comfortable as possible. Scott didn’t need the light to properly see him. Stiles was still unconscious, a combination of heavy sedatives from surgery and a hefty amount of trauma, but the Sheriff had told him the doctors expected him to wake within the next couple of hours. </p>
<p>It had been utterly horrifying listening to his friend spiraling towards death’s door when there was nothing he could do. He had half a mind to barge into the operating theatre and give Stiles the bite, if that were the only thing that could save his life. He didn’t know if that was what his friend wanted, but he figured it would be better than death. But Scott did know that if Stiles was already dying, the bite wouldn’t save him. It would only accelerate the dying part. </p>
<p>Another part of Scott had wanted nothing more than to shut his ears from the terrorizing sounds of Stiles crashing and the doctors desperately trying to bring him back. He nearly had. But he was certainly going to drive himself mad with speculation if he had stopped. So, he was forced to simply sit and listen as the doctors had shocked Stiles’ heart two times before his vitals stabilized enough for them to continue. That had been one of the most hellish experiences of his life. He hadn’t even noticed the tear slipping down his cheek until Lydia had called it out, worry strikingly evident in her tone. </p>
<p>Eventually, the doctors settled their erratic conversations and their voices lowered into normal, casual exchanges as they started to finish. Scott had visibly relaxed. It was only then he dared return to himself and the waiting area with Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski, and his mom. As Stiles had been wheeled into a private recovery room, his dad was the only one who had been allowed in for the remainder of the night. Scott stubbornly remained in the waiting area until he was allowed inside. </p>
<p>He was lingering in the doorway, insecure and uncomfortable. </p>
<p>Stiles still looked startlingly pale, the dark blue hospital gown effectively washing away any color he maintained. Underneath, the four, deep gashes that had been carved into his side were wrapped and secured by thick, white bandages and gauze. Several colored wires ran from under the gown to portable screens by the bedside, monitoring his various vital signs. It filled the quiet room with a monotonous, low beeping as his heart beat steadily along in his chest. One IV had been inserted into the nook of his elbow, supplying him with blood, while another line was taped into the back of his hand, feeding him fluids and antibiotics. Both of the thin tubes connected to each their own bag, hanging on a tall, metal rack by the monitor screens. His dark hair was flat and lifeless against his skull, looking almost inky black against his ashen complexion. His head was tilted slightly to the side, exposing the discolored, mottled bruise that ran from the corner of his eye and down his cheekbone, where Alexander had kicked him. His lips were lightly parted as he slept soundly. The pained, drawn lines on his face, which had been present the last time Scott had seen him, were gone. </p>
<p>It gave the young werewolf some measurement of comfort, knowing Stiles wasn’t feeling any pain. </p>
<p>It encouraged him to fully enter the hospital room. The contrasting smells of disinfectant and injury was assaulting in his sensitive nostrils but underneath it all, Stiles’ familiar scent was reassuringly present, smelling of home and security.</p>
<p>Scott settled into the cushioned chair that had been drawn up to the side of the bed. It was still warm from Stilinski’s presence sitting in it all night. Scott curiously eyed the soft, tranquil features of his sleeping best friend, not entirely sure what he was searching for. He raised his hand, his palm hovering a hesitating second above Stiles’ lax arm. </p>
<p>Then he lowered it, his warm fingers wrapping themselves around the pale skin. He meant it as a comfort, but it was also to doublecheck that his friend actually didn’t feel any discomfort and wasn’t trapped in some pain-addled nightmare. As his flesh connected with Stiles’, his sharp hearing caught the sound of a barely audible moan whispering past Stiles’ lips. </p>
<p>Scott’s head snapped up in excited surprise. Two brown, tired eyes looked at him past heavy eyelids and a quiet, relieved laugh erupted from his throat at the comforting sight.</p>
<p>The moment was short-lived. </p>
<p>A second later, Stiles’ eyelids fluttered down, his breath deepening as he drifted off back to sleep.</p>
<p>But it was enough. </p>
<p>Scott tightened his grip on Stiles’ arm to let him know he wasn’t going anywhere.<br/>____________________________________________________________________________________________________________</p>
<p>Scott didn’t know how long how he sat there, keeping a tentative eye on Stiles and impatiently waiting for him to wake up again. </p>
<p>It must have been a couple of hours. He had steadily been drifting off into a light slumber when someone rapped their knuckles on the doorframe into the room. Scott was violently torn out of his doze and he jerked around in the chair to face the sudden presence.</p>
<p>Derek stood in the doorway, gazing intently inside. He shot a quick glance at Stiles’ sleeping figure and gestured with a short nod towards the hall. Scott rose from his seat with a quiet groan and shuffled silently outside, careful not to disturb his slumbering friend. </p>
<p>“What’s up?” he greeted, once they were safely out in the hallway. He still kept his voice low, in case Stiles could hear him.</p>
<p>“I tracked his scent from the high school,” Derek reported. He didn’t need to clarify who ‘he’ was. “But the trail went cold once I reached the woods. He’s probably masking his smell, so tracking him’s gonna be more difficult than originally thought.”</p>
<p>“So, he’s gone?” Scott dejectedly sighed. He had hoped it would have been a little easier to locate Alexander’s hiding place. </p>
<p>Derek’s eyes glinted with the challenge. “I said difficult, not impossible.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for doing this.”</p>
<p>“I told you. I would stay to help you protect Beacon Hills. That includes protecting you, Stiles and everyone else from some rampant Alpha.” </p>
<p>Scott nodded with agreement and gratitude at Derek’s devotion to his pack. They had certainly come a long way from where they started. </p>
<p>Derek gestured towards Stiles’ hospital room then. “How’s he doing?”</p>
<p>“He woke up for a minute,” Scott supplied with a shrug. “He was pretty out of it, but they said that was normal, so…”</p>
<p>It felt slightly awkward talking to Derek about Stiles’ welfare like that. He always got the feeling that Derek only tolerated Stiles because of his respect for Scott. Perhaps that was true, but there was still some part of the former Alpha that had grown to care about the teenager, judging from the slight concern emanating from his scent. Scott smiled to himself at the thought. Stiles tended to have that effect on most people – and, it seemed, also on the shapeshifters that weren’t constantly trying to kill them. </p>
<p>“By the way,” Derek said, interrupting Scott’s train of thought. “I did a sweep around the hospital before I got here. I didn’t pick up on his scent here either.”</p>
<p>Scott released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding onto. The thought had crossed his mind too, that Alexander would come for Stiles again. It was also part of the reason Scott had refused to leave at any point. </p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Sure. Stay here with Stiles in case he does decide to come back. I’ll keep working the trail.”</p>
<p>Scott felt the gratitude bubbling in his chest. Derek knew how much Stiles meant to him and how desperately he wanted to protect him, and this allowed him to do so, without feeling like he was abandoning the rest of his pack duties.</p>
<p>Casting an understanding tilt of his head, Derek departed down the hallway and Scott went back inside the gloomy hospital room. </p>
<p>There he immediately halted, his eyes widening in delight and a smile stretching across his face. He couldn’t help the exclamation bursting out of his mouth. “You’re awake!”</p>
<p>Stiles’ eyes were open, fatigued and dull, but the most aware they had been since Scott had found him in library. </p>
<p>“I think your stench woke me up,” Stiles muttered, his gaze lazily tracking Scott, who moved further into the room. “Honestly, dude, when was the last time you showered?”</p>
<p>Scott couldn’t be bothered to wipe the grin off of his face as he sat down into the chair he had already been occupying for hours. “How’re you feeling?”</p>
<p>Stiles grunted, then winced heavily as he accidently moved his sore body. “Rapidly understanding Lydia’s urge to scream.”</p>
<p>Scott huffed slightly and leaned closer to siphon some of the pain away. Stiles quickly discouraged him with a dismissive, clumsy wave of his hand. </p>
<p>“Don’t bother. Whatever drugs they have me on are disturbingly effective. You think we could ask your mom to lend us some for crazy-werewolf-man?”</p>
<p>Scott faltered, his smile freezing and contorting into a grimace at the mention of Alexander.</p>
<p>“Geez, it was just a suggestion, Scott.”</p>
<p>“Stiles, I’m sorry.” The apology blurted out before Scott had a chance to stop it, his guilt-ridden thoughts overriding his logical reason and sense of preservation.</p>
<p>His best friend frowned in confusion at the downcast statement. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Alexander went after you, just to get to me. You’re in here because of me.”</p>
<p>Stiles didn’t hesitate in his answer. His words came swiftly and confidently, as he said, “First off… crazy-werewolf-man’s name is Alexander? How unbearably and annoyingly average. Second, you’re gonna apologize for every freaky, mythical nut-job we’ve crossed path with, or ever will cross paths with?” </p>
<p>He didn’t give Scott a chance to answer, before he continued, “No, because that would be stupid, and you’re not stupid. So, no, I will not hear your apology. If I didn’t want to be part of the whole supernatural shitshow with you, I would leave, alright? So, let’s leave it at that.”</p>
<p>He was quiet for a second, before he added in a more somber tone, “Besides, I’d rather it be me, than someone else.”</p>
<p>Scott wasn’t entirely sure how he should interpret the last sentence, or how he should handle it. Ultimately, he decided to let it go by for now, uncommented, when he noticed Stiles growing more and more weary during their conversation. He settled for a lighter reply, hoping it would still get his point across. </p>
<p>“I’d rather it was no one at all.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that would be nice. And cheaper.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Devil in Your Eye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we are on to chapter 6 - the action WILL pick up again, don't worry!<br/>Also... I absolutely loved writing Peter. His indignation and jabs were especially fun to recreate!</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His side ached again.</p>
<p>Once the sedatives had started to wear off, and he no longer spent most of his time asleep, a persistent, burning ache had taken a firm hold in Stiles’ abdomen. The claw marks that had torn through his skin were deep and slow to heal – in his unbiased, professional opinion. </p>
<p>Whenever he moved or breathed, the wounds would pull painfully, sending shocking darts of agony across his chest and down his legs. The small walks he was capable of doing rendered him exhausted and hurting, and usually kept him immobile for the rest of the day, no matter the dosage of pain meds or the number of times Scott siphoned some of it. Being forced to remain so stationary, it left his thoughts fidgeting and fleeting, anxious to move. </p>
<p>It also meant he was completely and thoroughly bored out of his mind. He wasn’t able to do anything other than sleep and watch daytime TV. Scott’s constant presence helped alleviate some of the boredom, even if it was just the two of them staring at a television screen. They did spend some of the time discussing the ominous presence of the homicidal werewolf, lurking somewhere in the shadows of Beacon Hills. Alexander had yet to resurface, and his scent hadn’t either. One upside of that, was no one had been killed since Stiles’ attack. </p>
<p>But the complete disappearance had left the whole pack scattered and holding their collective breaths in apprehensive anticipation of what would happen next. It was also why Stiles’ room was currently fully occupied by pack members, as they debated their next move. </p>
<p>Scott remained glued by Stiles’ bedside, hovering protectively at the headboard, while Lydia had taken custody over the chair, he had otherwise been occupying for several days. Kira stood awkwardly behind Scott, still not entirely sure of her position in the pack yet, despite of everyone else told her. Derek was leaned up against the wall, arms crossed and with his normal brooding face, and as far away from the gathered teenagers as possible. Stiles, being unable to be anywhere else, sat propped up in the hospital bed, one arm wrapped protectively around his sore midsection.</p>
<p>They had refrained from dragging Malia into this whole mess yet, as she was still adjusting to normal, teenage life in high school. She had been by earlier, though where she had proclaimed in a neutral, matter-of-fact tone that she was glad Stiles wasn’t dead. </p>
<p>So… Progress. </p>
<p>“You have got to be kidding me,” Lydia’s exasperated voice pulled Stiles back to the present. </p>
<p>Her piercing gaze was directed out the open door and onto the person waltzing down the hallway, headed directly for Stiles’ room. A bored and annoyed-looking Peter stopped in the opening. Stiles felt the familiar, piqued sense of irritation and resentment tugging at his insides.</p>
<p>“Why am I here? I hate hospitals.”</p>
<p>Stiles wholeheartedly agreed with him, as he concurred to the whole room, “Yeah, why is he here?”</p>
<p>Derek shrugged nonchalantly, indifferent to Stiles’ feelings, and explained, “I called him. We need information on Alphas. He knows.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I heard about the new arrival in town. Someone want to bring me up to speed?”</p>
<p>Scott was the first one to speak. “Well, he used Stiles to get to me. He said he wanted the True Alpha’s power. But that can’t be transferred unless someone I bite then kills me… Right?”</p>
<p>“In theory, yes,” Peter confirmed.</p>
<p>“Then he shouldn’t be able to get my power.”</p>
<p>“If he was a True Alpha before, then I guess, just maybe, he might become one again. He certainly had the capabilities at one point.”</p>
<p>“But even if he hadn’t lost that power, and he still has the potential to be a True Alpha, wouldn’t he automatically lose all of that, if he kills Scott?” Kira wondered aloud, her big eyes traveling around the room.</p>
<p>“Probably. Look, as I’ve told you all before, this is not an exact science. It’s not a science at all.”</p>
<p>“Try,” Derek interjected, coolly.</p>
<p>Peter sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. “Fine. He lost his power. Presumably, by killing someone, given his obvious penchant for violence as the first resort. However, if he kills Scott, maybe -maybe- it just might be a way to restore that power.”</p>
<p>Scott crossed his arms defiantly as he glared at Peter. “If that was possible, wouldn’t you be trying to kill me, right now?”</p>
<p>“No, because I was never a True Alpha. Never have, never will be.” Peter matched Scott’s pose; indignation clear on his face. “Besides, I would never steep to such petty attempts. If I were trying to kill you, I wouldn’t go after your Betas. Let alone little, human Stiles.”</p>
<p>“Little, human Stiles can hear you, you know,” Stiles spoke up. He didn’t know why he should feel offended by anything Peter said or did anymore, but he didn’t care for the implication. Certainly not from that guy.</p>
<p>“Yes, well, you are being uncharacteristically quiet. When I hadn’t heard your voice yapping for five minutes, I forgot you were here.”</p>
<p>“Alright, can someone call security?”</p>
<p>“Charming,” Peter commented. He turned his attention back to Scott. “What did you say his name was again?”</p>
<p>Scott looked almost taken aback at the sudden shift, his brow frowning. His voice was hesitant and confused, as he tentatively asked, “… Stiles?”</p>
<p>Peter rolled his eyes, exasperated. “How you became a True Alpha is truly mindboggling and way beyond my comprehensive understanding. No, the power-hungry Alpha. His name.”</p>
<p>“Peter?” Stiles suggested under a muttered breath. Human ears missed the remark but given the presence of three werewolves in the room, it didn’t go entirely unnoticed. Peter shot him an incredibly annoyed look, and briefly, Stiles appreciated that not even werewolves looks could kill.</p>
<p>Scott ignored the little exchange as he answered, “Alexander. Have you heard about him?”</p>
<p>Peter seemed to contemplate the name for a long moment. “Sadly, no. Means nothing to me.”</p>
<p>“Great. Thanks for coming,” Stiles piped up. </p>
<p>“Yes, it’s always a pleasure helping you hormonal delinquents. And while I’m not above hitting an invalid,” Peter said, briefly directing his gaze down at Stiles, before tilting his head back up again. “I think I will remove myself from the situation before the temptation becomes too great.”<br/>_______________________________________________________________________________________________</p>
<p>The room cleared out pretty quickly.</p>
<p>Derek had followed Peter out, claiming he would still help, despite his amount of sarcasm and insults. Stiles wished him the best of luck. Lydia and Kira left shortly after, both of them during double schoolwork for both Stiles and Scott while Alexander’s eluding freedom remained problematic.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Scott asked slowly, as they were alone again.</p>
<p>Stiles cursed his inattentiveness. His best friend must have easily spotted his scrunched-up features and the subsequent winces that followed whenever he tried to get more comfortable. He thought he had hidden it better.</p>
<p>“Yeah, fine.”</p>
<p>“Dude, you don’t have to pretend in front of me, you know that, right?” Scott insisted. “You can talk to me about anything.”</p>
<p>Not everything, Scott.</p>
<p>Stiles looked away, downcast and thoughtful. His fingers nervously tapped on the blanket covering his legs, fearing what was to come. What the next thing out of Scott’s mouth would be. Something that had been haunting his nightmares for the past few weeks. Something lurking underneath the surface of their friendship. Something that came out that night in the library.</p>
<p>“Stiles, at the school… Do you remember what you said?”</p>
<p>And there it was. The one thing he definitely, decidedly, didn’t want to talk about. </p>
<p>“As I recall, you did most of the talking,” he said, in an attempt to change the subject. Scott didn’t give an inch. He just shot him an incredulous, demanding look and Stiles knew he had lost. “Fine. Yeah… Unfortunately, I do remember.”</p>
<p>“Did you mean it?”</p>
<p>Silence stretched out between the two of them. Stiles did remember what he had said, although the memories were blurred and hazy. He remembered the all-consuming pain that engulfed his body, the feeling of his mind slowly drifting away as the darkness edged closer, obstructing his vision. Most of all, he remembered the sense of urgency spurning him on; the incessant need to apologize for what he had done, for offering peace before he departed from this world. </p>
<p>Had he meant it? </p>
<p>Some piece of him certainly had. The piece that was usually screamed the loudest in the darkest part of the night, when the nightmares became too much. The guilt-ridden, nonsensical piece of his soul that would remain forever tainted by the Nogitsune and its actions. </p>
<p>Stiles hesitated, fidgeting nervously as he contemplated whether to share the despairing thoughts that had been consuming him since Allison and Aiden had died. <br/>He opened his mouth, unsure of the words his tongue would form, when he was blissfully interrupted. The hospital room was enveloped in darkness, the lights abruptly snuffed out. The open door, leading into the hallway beyond was also swallowed by the blackness, letting the two of them know the entire hospital had just gone dark.</p>
<p>Stiles met Scott’s eyes, the sudden rush of anxiety and trepidation he was feeling mirrored in his best friend’s gaze. This wasn’t a normal blackout. Both of them realized it at the same time, yet Scott was the one to voice it. </p>
<p>“He’s here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Dust Bowl Dance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Who's ready for some action and some BAMF Scott and Stiles?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott’s heightened senses were peaked and alert.</p>
<p>The anticipation before a looming, dangerous situation rendered him restless and jumpy, the inner wolf itching to be released and face the threat. Scott redirected all that pent-up energy into his elevated hearing and eyesight, as he scouted the darkened hallway for any sign of Alexander.</p>
<p>Tumultuous bangs and thumbs echoed from floors down below.</p>
<p>It sent shivers down his spine.</p>
<p>Scott turned his head back to Stiles, who was sitting leaned forward on the bed, one leg already halfway out. His anxious face carefully studied his best friend’s.</p>
<p>“He’s inside the hospital,” Scott gloomily reported.</p>
<p>Stiles blanched. Then, he straightened his back, nodding vigorously as he steeled himself with a steadying breath. He began pulling out the wires from his chest connected to the heart monitor, the screen abruptly howling with the sudden flatline. He ripped out the IV lines from his skin, the action punctuated by an outcry of pain and a particularly colorful curse word. Blood trickled down the puncture wound in his elbow and from the back of his hand where the needles had been torn out.</p>
<p>“What’re you doing?” Scott asked, incredulous, and moved further into the room.</p>
<p>“Help get me out of this,” Stiles said as an answer, fumbling with the intertwisted lines and tubing. </p>
<p>Scott untangled the mess and Stiles threw back the covers and gingerly put his feet on the floor. He had been given some thin, woolly socks so he wouldn’t have to go barefoot on the cold linoleum floor, along with a pair of flimsy sweatpants to wear underneath the hospital-issued gown. Tentatively, he rose, a heaving grunt underlying his effort. </p>
<p>Scott immediately moved in and offered his support. He bended his knees so Stiles could drape his arm over his shoulders, while he wrapped his own around Stiles’ waist. Scott reached up with his free hand to grasp Stiles’, which was clenched tightly around the fabric of his shirt. With the skin contact, Scott began to siphon away some of the pain he could practically smell wafting off his friend, the black lines creeping up his arms.</p>
<p>He felt some of the tension leave Stiles’ body.</p>
<p>Together, they lumbered out of the dark hospital room and into the corridor, both of their eyes peeled for danger lurking in the shadowed corners. Scott fished his phone out of his pocket as they walked, half-blindly constructing a quick text to Derek. </p>
<p>‘Alexander at hospital.’</p>
<p>He just hoped Derek would arrive in time. Until then, they just needed to stay out of Alexander’s sight. Stiles was flailing beside him, his breathing heavy and strained as he struggled to keep up. Scott slowed his pace, realizing he was practically dragging his injured friend along. </p>
<p>“I texted Derek for help. We need somewhere to hide until then,” Scott announced, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for a descent hiding place. </p>
<p>“Yeah, any great ideas?” Stiles muttered. He too was looking up and down the hallways, alert for incoming danger. </p>
<p>Scott thought for a minute, then altered their direction towards the elevators. “The parking garage. If we’re lucky, we can find a car or an ambulance to hide in.”</p>
<p>“When have we ever been lucky?” Stiles countered with a grunt when the sudden course change pulled at his wound. “Scott, we could buy a lottery ticket and somehow end up owing the entire million.”</p>
<p>“We’re lucky where it counts.” </p>
<p>“Okay, you can go ahead and hide me in the bathroom, so I can throw up.”</p>
<p>Scott didn’t acknowledge the comment and they reached the elevators. He pushed the down button. When it didn’t immediately light up, he pushed it again. And again, his finger vehemently slamming into the circular button with more and more force. It stubbornly remained dark, the sliding doors unmovable. </p>
<p>“Alright, buddy, slow down. Don’t break your finger. Or the button. It’s not its fault,” Stiles said and loosely grabbed his wrist when Scott moved in to try again.</p>
<p>Scott refused to be swayed or calmed down. He didn’t get how Stiles could be so nonchalant about the situation. The stairs weren’t an option, the elevators weren’t working. They were effectively trapped and somewhere in this damned hospital a crazy Alpha werewolf was lurking. Scott banged his palm against the metal in frustration, letting out his frustration with a yell. He fervently searched the halls for anything that could help. He wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but he knew he would know it when he spotted it. The corridors were just as unhelpful and dim as before.</p>
<p>The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled nervously then. An eerie voice whispered in his eardrums, seemingly originating from everywhere.</p>
<p>“Scott.”</p>
<p>Stiles perked his head as he too heard the phantom call that resonated in the hallway. He warily eyed Scott, his anxiety spiking in his scent. Scott was whipping his head around frantically to ascertain where the voice came from. Instinct drove him on, and Scott hefted Stiles higher as he chose the corridor to the right, his steps hurried and determined.</p>
<p>Stiles stumbled with clumsy steps beside him while Scott aimlessly led them through the hospital wing. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, beating with vigilant expectation and tense apprehension. He could smell the angst and pain rolling off of his best friend by his side, hear his pulse racing and his labored breath. It only fueled his own panicked state. </p>
<p>He felt the looming presence at his back, something drawing steadily nearer, its malicious intent practically sucking the oxygen out of the air. His strides grew longer and faster as the ominous presence accelerated its pace. Scott made the split decision as he passed it. </p>
<p>The windows in the two swing doors to his left were overcast and reflected nothing of the darkened room hiding behind them, but it also meant it was most likely empty. It would have to do. </p>
<p>Scott barged into the doors with his shoulder, dragging Stiles in after him with a startled yelp. It looked like an operating theatre. A single, platformed table stood in the middle of the room, massive overhanging lamps aiming down on it from above. Small stools and glass cabinets lined the walls. A few, wheeled cabinet carts and various medical equipment were scattered randomly throughout the room. </p>
<p>The quick inspection cemented his earlier conclusion that they were alone. Scott gently untangled Stiles’ draped arm from his shoulder as he led him to the bolted table. As Stiles used the metal table as support, Scott maintained a hand on his shoulder and turned his attention back to the double doors they had entered through. </p>
<p>His senses were screaming with alarm and warning. </p>
<p>Alexander was close. He could feel it.</p>
<p>The swing doors remained quiet and stationary. </p>
<p>Everything was quiet.</p>
<p>A humorless chuckle was the only admonition he received. </p>
<p>Scott felt something heavy slam into his back. As he was thrown violently to the ground, he heard Stiles’ pained exclamation echo in his ears. His chest connected with the harsh, cold floor, his lungs flattening at the impact and his breath leaving them in a strangled exhale. He didn’t get a chance to recover as he felt claws tearing through the shirt on his back and into the soft flesh. Blood poured from the gashes. A yell of pain ripped from his throat. </p>
<p>He turned onto his slashed back, feeling the blood stick between his clothes and the hard ground. He stared right into the glowing, red eyes of Alexander. </p>
<p>The werewolf stood above him, his contorted, shifted features growling menacingly. Behind him, Stiles was on the floor, his limbs flailing in an uncoordinated attempt to rise. Scott felt his own teeth elongating and his claws emerging from his fingertips, as he easily shifted from human to wolf. His barred his fangs, a snarl rumbling deep in his throat. </p>
<p>Alexander didn’t allow any respite. He stomped his boot into Scott’s stomach and firmly held it there, crunching his ribcage inch by inch. </p>
<p>Scott felt his ribs painfully bend inwards under the merciless force. He howled and lashed onto Alexander’s leg, his claws digging into the denim fabric and the skin underneath. The Alpha grunted and wavered but didn’t let up his intense pressure. </p>
<p>“Give it up, Scott! You chose the path of the weak. And now…” he growled and leaned his full weight and strength onto his foot. “Your power is mine!”</p>
<p>Scott heard one of his ribs break and felt the agonizing pop sear across his nerves. </p>
<p>He couldn’t help the scream erupting from his throat.<br/>
________________________________________________________________________________________</p>
<p>Stiles’ world was spinning precariously around him as he struggled to regain his bearings.</p>
<p>When he had been pushed to the ground, the floor had been unforgiving and harsh as he connected. His torn side screamed in agony and the pain left him breathless and dizzy. His instincts were roaring with danger and fear. He knew he had to get up, but he couldn’t get his stupid body to cooperate. It wasn’t until he heard his best friend cry out, his voice laced with tormented anguish, that Stiles was able to move.</p>
<p>He forced his limbs into movement, shaky and sluggish, as he raised his body from the floor. Two distorted figures drifted into focus, and he could make out Scott’s prone form on the floor and Alexander’s hovering above him, one foot placed on Scott’s chest. Anger flared in Stiles’ heart. </p>
<p>He wasn’t a match for a werewolf, much less an Alpha. Not even on a good day. </p>
<p>But he could provide a distraction.</p>
<p>Stiles fumbled to his feet, his legs wobbling with the effort. Gathering his energy and ignoring his hurts, he threw himself onto Alexander’s back and latched on.<br/>
____________________________________________________________________-</p>
<p>Scott felt the pressure lifting immediately.</p>
<p>Through bleary eyes, he saw Stiles creep up behind Alexander. The lithe human figure then pounced onto his back, one arm snaking around his throat and pulling back, while the other went for his face, the short fingertips scratching and tearing into whatever they could find.</p>
<p>Alexander yowled at the sudden, unexpected attack. He stumbled backwards, his arms flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to shed the added weight dragging him down. Scott felt the relief as the bulky pressure vanished and his bones began knitting themselves back together. </p>
<p>As his body worked on mending itself, Scott heaved himself onto his elbows and watched in proud fascination as Stiles managed to stay on the Alpha’s back, bloodying his face and eliciting distressed yelps. But it quickly ended when Alexander’s thrashing hand finally found Stiles’ shoulder. His strong fingers wrapped themselves into the blue gown and then he tugged forcefully. </p>
<p>Scott could only watch as Stiles was flung like a ragdoll when Alexander tore him off his back. Stiles flew through the air and collided violently with one of the small cabinet carts. Both the cabinet and human fell haphazardly onto the floor with a loud, clamoring crash and an excruciating yell of pain. </p>
<p>The metallic tang of Stiles’ blood rapidly filled Scott’s nostrils as his wound reopened. A new sense of urgency spread through his nerves.</p>
<p>The intense mantra of ‘<em>Protect Stiles. Get to Stiles<em>’ repeated itself in his mind. Anger and newfound hatred fueled his body and all his aches and hurts evaporated. He shot up from the floor, claws outstretched, and teeth barred, as he threw himself into Alexander.</em></em></p><p>
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<p>He aimed for the throat.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Enemy and the Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Will they make it? Time for the climax!</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles eased himself onto his side with a strained groan.</p>
<p>His vision flickered and tipped, nausea burning in the back of his throat, and he squinted with the effort of keeping track of the two thrashing figures in the room. Scott and Alexander’s blurred forms collided and withdrew from each other in a dizzying dance of sharp claws and shredding teeth.</p>
<p>The display was equally fascinating and frightening, as the two supernatural creatures fought with increasing ferocity. Stiles wanted desperately to help his best friend, but he had no idea how. He also didn’t think he could. He had far exceeded the limits of what his painstakingly human body could handle. He could feel the re-opened wounds in his side lazily leaking blood that was slowly bleeding through the gauzes and bandages. His mind was exhausted and spent, his thoughts too slow to properly keep up with the snarling combatants in the room with him.</p>
<p>He resigned himself to watching and hoping that Scott would be enough to subdue Alexander. He believed in his friend’s strength and determination. With every fiber of his being, he believed in Scott McCall. But he also believed experience and ingenuity trumped brute force – his own scrawny ass wouldn’t be alive today, if that wasn’t the case. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, Alexander had plenty of all three components. </p>
<p>Blaring bangs and clangs resonated loudly inside the operating theatre as Scott and Alexander crashed into their surroundings, each trying to gain the upper hand. Stiles watched with worried horror as Scott was slammed into the wall, Alexander’s claws holding him firmly in place as they buried themselves into the fleshy part of his shoulder. The claws on Alexander’s other hand gleamed as they extended fully before burrowing into Scott’s exposed stomach.</p>
<p>Stiles’ heart leapt into his throat as Scott howled in agony.</p>
<p>“Can you feel it, Scott?” Alexander roared with delight. “The power of the True Alpha! It’s mine!”</p>
<p>Stiles frantically whipped his head around for anything that could help him. For anything that could help Scott. The two werewolves stood almost perfectly still, only Scott twitching in pain under Alexander’s grip, as they stared hatefully at each other. Their eyes glowed crimson in the gloom.</p>
<p>Stiles’ eyes landed on the overturned cabinet cart he had collided with. Its drawers were skewed and open, its contents spilling all over the floor. Quadratic gauze pads, needles, bandages and gloves all littered on the ground, but his gaze instantly fell onto the syringe. It was filled with a clear liquid, the plunger drawn out and ready to discharge its contents. He had no idea what the liquid inside was. He also didn’t care. He wrapped his shaking, bloody fingers around the thin syringe. </p>
<p>With a strained grunt, Stiles heaved his body off the floor. His muscles shook as they struggled to maintain him upright. The operating theatre dipped precariously as he rose, his vision constantly blurring and refocusing. His feet dragged along the floor with each precious step. His wavering gaze never left Alexander’s back, and Stiles urged himself further. </p>
<p>'<em>One more step, Stiles. Just one more<em>.'</em></em></p><p>
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<p>His heart was beating loudly in his chest, his strained breathing resounding in his ears, almost overshadowing Scott’s cries. Stiles drew nearer. He was just a foot away from the preoccupied Alpha.</p>
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<p>Stiles placed his thumb on the plunger of the syringe. </p>
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<p>He took the final, lumbered step. </p>
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<p>Then he jammed the needle into Alexander’s neck. </p>
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<p>The Alpha froze with a startled inhale. He wobbled backwards a couple of steps, his claws releasing their grip on Scott, and Stiles stumbled out of the way and into the wall behind him. Vaguely, he felt himself sliding down onto the floor, his weak legs unable to hold him up any longer, and the syringe rolling past his trembling fingers. But his focus was glued onto the faltering werewolf in front of him.</p>
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<p>Both he and Scott watched in stupefied fascination as Alexander remained suspended for a short breath, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. Then his features reverted back to human while his fangs and claws retracted silently. Emotion vanished as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Then he slumped bonelessly to the floor.</p>
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<p>The operating theatre, which had been blaring with the thundering ruckus of a fight just moments before, was enveloped in silence. Rapid, labored breaths were the only sound echoing in the room. Then Scott’s astonished voice broke the quiet.</p>
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<p>“Dude… What did you do?”</p>
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<p>Stiles shrugged, unable to tear his gaze away from the unconscious form on the floor. “I have no idea. But whatever it was, I want more of it.” </p>
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<p>Scott huffed incredulously, his hand slowly lowering from where it had been cradling his bleeding stomach. He shuffled over to Stiles, who was still propped up against the wall. Scott’s hand was bloody, the cuts and tears already healed, as he extended towards his friend on the floor.</p>
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<p>“Can you stand?” he asked, eyes twinkling with concern.</p>
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<p>“Yeah,” Stiles automatically answered, although he wasn’t entirely sure it was true. He could feel the sticky sensation of blood clinging to his skin and coating the waistband of his trousers. Still, he clasped his hand firmly in Scott’s and let his friend pull him gently to his feet. His grip stiffened instinctually as vertigo assaulted his senses, sending him swaying in a light-headed spin. “Okay, I might have spoken too soon…”</p>
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<p>Black spots danced in front of his vision, and he suddenly had no recollection of what was left and right. He felt himself bumping into Scott’s chest, his friend tightening his hold when he listed precariously to the side. His mind cleared again as he blinked, his surroundings drifting slowly back into focus. </p>
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<p>Scott adjusted his grip on Stiles’ arms. He began leading him towards the door, out of the operating theatre. “Let’s get you back to your room.”</p>
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<p>“What about Sleeping Beauty?” Stiles noted, turning his head to Alexander, still splayed awkwardly on the floor. </p>
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<p>Scott followed his line of sight, a beat of silence stretching between the two of them, as he contemplated the options. “Leave him?”</p>
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<p>Stiles shrugged in careless agreement. “Works for me.”<br/>
____________________________________________________________________________________________</p>
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<p>Derek and Deaton had helped Scott smuggle the slurring, languid Alexander out of the hospital. </p>
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<p>As the drugs had properly worn off and exited his system, Scott had made sure, in no uncertain terms, he understood what would happen should the beaten Alpha ever return to Beacon Hills or go after any pack members again. Alexander had worn a sour scowl the entire conversation, bound hand and foot so that he was forced to listen. Self-preservation, because he knew any other Alpha would have torn him to pieces, made him compliant enough to reluctantly agree to Scott’s uncompromising terms, no matter how much he growled his dissatisfaction.</p>
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<p>After that, Derek and Deaton had dumped him at the outskirts of town. Derek informed Scott that he had further asserted the fact Alexander shouldn’t have been left alive and made sure the Alpha understood his extremely fortunate circumstances and how quickly those could change. </p>
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<p>Scott returned to the hospital as quickly as he could. Stiles had been somewhat out of it when he left, but once the bleeding had stopped, the gashes redressed and a healthy dose of painkillers had been administered, his awareness had bounced back rather rapidly. Scott entered the private room, just in time to overhear Stiles’ voice.</p>
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<p>“So, now will you reconsider my proposal of getting me a weapon?”</p>
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<p>Sheriff Stilinski was lounging in the chair, directly opposite of the low hospital bed, facing his son. His voice was calm and precise as he replied without missing a beat, “Not in a million years.”</p>
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<p>Stiles shot him an exasperated, astonished look. The Sheriff remained unfazed, his features an odd mixture of stoic and slightly amused, as he easily countered, “Stiles, the last time I threw a ball at you, you nearly sprained two of your fingers trying to catch it.”</p>
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<p>Scott suppressed a laugh at the comment, his grin only widening as Stiles threw a glare in his direction. Stiles quickly turned his attention back to his father, displeased and indignant. “Yeah, but you just chugged it at my face. There was no reason for you to aim for my face; in fact, I should have called child services on you, you know that? It’s borderline abuse.”</p>
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<p>“I am not issuing you a gun.” </p>
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<p>“Fine!” Stiles relented. He leaned back into his propped pillows with a small pout.</p>
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<p>Scott found it amazingly hilarious at how nonchalant Sheriff Stilinski handled Stiles’ rants and how easily he could circumvent them, much to Stiles’ annoyance. He decided to step in with his own remark as he reached the foot of the bed, an innocent smirk pulled at his lips.</p>
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<p>“You don’t need a gun, Stiles. You got me.”</p>
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<p>“Right, yeah, because that’s not emasculating at all.”</p>
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<p>“I could bite you,” Scott suggested with a shrug. He almost broke at the disturbed look that crossed Stilinski’s face.</p>
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<p>“Right now, my body feels like it went about 40 rounds with a gloveless and extremely juiced up Mike Tyson. At this point, I might just let you.”</p>
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<p>“Alright, boys,” Stilinski exclaimed, a vexed and baffled expression dominating his features, and rushed to his feet. “That sounds like my cue to leave. I need to get back to the station. Stiles, I’ll be back later this afternoon, alright?”</p>
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<p>Stiles nodded his understanding and agreement, letting his dad know he was okay for now. The Sheriff dipped his chin in Scott’s direction, as Scott moved in to take his place in the chair, a loaded gesture of ‘take care of my son’ that the young Alpha understood perfectly. </p>
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<p>Stilinski stopped in the doorway in his way out, turning his upper body back to the two teenagers and said, “Oh, and Scott? I know he can be infuriating at times, but… With or without fangs: Don’t bite my son.”  </p>
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<p>Stiles rolled his eyes while Scott just smiled at the jest. He caught the underlying meaning of it and acknowledged the Sheriff’s request with a tip of his head. </p>
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<p>He didn’t plan to.</p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Roll Away Your Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we are onto the final chapter and our boys need a little heart-to-heart! <br/>For maximum feels, listen to 'Alps' by Novo Amor (also the soundtrack from 6x09!) - certainly helped the writing process!</p>
<p>Since it is the end I would like to thank any who left their support on this work! It means a lot! Even if it's been some years since TW peaked! Hope you enjoyed it!</p>
<p>MermaidDJ out!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the Sheriff left, leaving Stiles and Scott alone with each other, an awkward silence filled the space between them. </p>
<p>Scott fiddled with his hands while he contemplated how to ask his burning questions. He knew Stiles didn’t want to talk about it. Before Alexander had interrupted them, Stiles had looked practically ready to run from the conversation if he had been able to and the anxiety that had rolled off of him in waves. But given everything, Scott wanted nothing more than to clear the air and help his friend. </p>
<p>He hadn’t been oblivious to Stiles’ silent suffering throughout these past weeks. His scent had been marred with anxiety and desolation and he had been more subdued and uncharacteristically quiet, his features often lost in deep contemplation whenever he thought no one was looking. The entire pack had been reeling since the Nogitsune, but Scott had just hoped he would open about it eventually. As it turned out, almost bleeding to death was what it took. </p>
<p>He wasn’t the one to breach the subject now. Stiles’ tired voice broke the erected wall of silence. “So, are we gonna get emotional now?”</p>
<p>“You never did answer my question earlier,” Scott replied. </p>
<p>“Yes, well, I have a general rule in life. Physical peril first and emotional turmoil later.”</p>
<p>“You’re not in any danger anymore.” Scott looked up from his hands at Stiles, who was busy staring at his own fingers, twisting and curling in the blanket that covered him. Scott could easily smell the hurt and disquiet emanating from his friend and his heart ached when he realized Stiles had kept it all bottled up inside for so long.</p>
<p>Stiles sighed in a broken and up-giving tone. “What do you want me to say, Scott? That I was the weak one? Well, I was.”</p>
<p>Scott didn’t answer. He remained silent and waited patiently for him to continue, knowing it would all come out eventually. And when it did, he would be there, a steady presence always by his side, no matter what the supernatural world throw at them.</p>
<p>A few seconds passed and then Stiles began anew, dejected, worn out and berating. “I was weak. The door we opened into our minds… I was the only one who couldn’t close it. And it wasn’t because I was human. Allison managed to lock it. You did too. But I couldn’t; I let him in.”</p>
<p>His voice turned hateful and tense as he referenced the Nogitsune. </p>
<p>“And every horrible thing he did, and everyone who died or got hurt afterwards… That happened because I wasn’t strong enough. It might not have been me. But Allison still died. So did Aiden. For all his faults, he didn’t deserve that. Ethan didn’t deserve to lose his brother. Isaac, Kira, Lydia, you… You all got hurt because of me and my actions. Or worse. All because I couldn’t close a freaking door.”</p>
<p>The amount of self-loathing and bitter resentment that swirled in Stiles’ clear gaze was almost too much to bear, the feelings that assaulted Scott’s senses so twisted in dark anguish it threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted nothing more than to take away Stiles’ suffering, but this was a pain he couldn’t just siphon off. And it left him reeling and helpless. </p>
<p>“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” Scott tried. He had no idea what else to say. He just hoped Stiles believed his words.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Stiles said. He seemed to believe it too, but it didn’t lessen his misery. He finally raised his eyes to meet Scott’s, unshed tears and a powerless despair shining clearly in his brown orbs. “At least, the logical part of me does. But there’s that stupid, irrational, little voice inside of my head that doesn’t want to go away. That’s been there since my mom died. And sometimes it just yells louder.”</p>
<p>“You gotta let that go, man. Somehow, you gotta tune out that voice and forgive yourself for what the Nogitsune did.”</p>
<p>“How?” The utter desperation on Stiles’ face shattered Scott’s heart into a million pieces. </p>
<p>He flailed for an answer. He didn’t have any and couldn’t find one. He had never wished to know the absolute answer more in his entire life, so that he could give Stiles some form of closure or at the very least send him in the right direction to alleviate his guilt. He had no idea what that would be. </p>
<p>His own grief over Allison’s death still hit him unexpectedly from time to time, and it rendered him breathless and staggering. The guilt had been a massive weight on his chest, feeling like he had dragged her into this world to begin with and directly placed her into the path of the Oni’s blade. He had spoken with his mom about it, and she had told him of survivor’s guilt and how to reduce it. It had lessened the crushing feeling and helped him process and overcome his own part in her death. It made Allison’s memory that much easier to bear.</p>
<p>He wanted to do the same for Stiles, to give him the absolution he so desperately needed.  </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he admitted reluctantly. He hurried to continue at Stiles’ crestfallen face. “Maybe one way is to hear it from others. From me.”</p>
<p>He waited until Stiles looked up again, and Scott held his gaze. He needed him to understand how firmly and absolutely he believed his next words. “I forgive you. Honestly. I never blamed you in the first place. But I forgive you, Stiles. I do.”</p>
<p>Stiles searched his face vehemently, examining his features intently, and Scott didn’t know if he was looking for veracity or some sort of deceit. He just opened up and let all of his sincerity flow into his eyes. He needed Stiles to know that he would always be there to rein him back in, and no matter how much Stiles blamed himself, Scott would always be there to carry some of the guilt. He hoped it would be enough to convince Stiles. To make him believe it. To allow himself to believe it. </p>
<p>They reminded there in a tense while.</p>
<p>Then Stiles exhaled shakily. </p>
<p>And nodded.</p>
<p>Scott placed a hand on Stiles’ lower arm, mindful of the IV lines snaking over his skin, and squeezed in a comforting gesture, a timid smile playing at his lips.</p>
<p>“Whenever that voice in your head gets too loud… You call me.”</p>
<p>“Even if it’s to rant about how you still haven’t seen Star Wars?” The remark was quiet and disjointed, lacking any of its usual snarky confidence. But underneath it, the genuine feeling of tentative, hopeful optimism flickered, and Stiles exuded a semblance that was closer to his original self than Scott had felt in him in weeks.  </p>
<p>“Even then.”</p>
<p>Scott knew the despairing feelings that Stiles struggled with wasn’t gone or that he was magically fixed. But it was a step in the right direction. </p>
<p>And that would have to do.<br/>__________________________________________________________________________</p>
<p>Melissa had just finished her rounds as she headed for Stiles’ hospital room. </p>
<p>She opened the door without knocking, instantly freezing in the doorway with her hand still clutching the handle at the sight that met her. </p>
<p>The room was quiet, buzzing with a comfortable silence as both occupants were soundly asleep. Stiles was thankfully still laying on the bed, the cover drawn up to his chest, as he had tilted to the side. The bruises that had circled his eyes earlier had faded, barely visible, as had the pained, troubled lines formerly etched into his face. He was still too pale, but he looked infinitely healthier and stronger than when he had first been admitted. Now, he just looked like the teenager he truly was, his lips parted slightly and a light snoring rumbling from his nose.</p>
<p>Scott matched his best friend’s sounds as his lanky frame was sprawled and slumped in the padded chair, drawn up next to Stiles’ bedframe. He seemed lighter, somehow, like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was the most hopeful and relaxed, Melissa had seen her son for quite some time.</p>
<p>Both Scott and Stiles had a hand placed on top of the mattress, their fingertips stretched towards each other without touching. A way of signifying their steady presence to one another without ever having to put it into words. </p>
<p>Melissa smiled at the small display, love and affection for both of the boys swelling in her heart. She exited wordlessly and softly closed the door behind her, leaving the two best friends asleep.</p>
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